


The Pie is Bad/The Sandwich is Good

by kat8cha



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat8cha/pseuds/kat8cha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson isn't the healthiest of eaters, Barton takes it upon himself to give Coulson a little home cooking now and again but when he gets kidnapped it's up to Phil to save the only man to ever make him lunch. Written for CCBingo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pie is Bad/The Sandwich is Good

It starts with something simple. Paperwork, a late night, and the break room vending machine.

Paperwork, sadly, does not do itself, a fact that Coulson is intimately acquainted with. Supervillains, superheroes, natural disasters, and unnatural disasters also do not _solve_ themselves and unfortunately both the problem and the resolution create paperwork. Agents of SHIELD filing their paperwork created more paperwork.

Agents of SHIELD _not_ filing their paperwork created more paperwork.

Coulson rested his head against the glass of the vending machine. The stolid obelisk whirred loudly, covering up the irritating whine of the dying fluorescent in the corner of the room. Inside of the vending machine bags of chips, bars of candy, and the occasional ‘healthy’ snack slumped against black metal rings. White blocks of plastic listed their prices and Coulson could not quite summon up the energy to slip body-temperature coins into the machine and punch the buttons to score something to eat (probably one of the Hostess fruit pies, he was craving something with a light flaky crust and real fruit filling). He needed to get the paperwork on the Avengers Initiative’s latest debacle done tonight, the WSC was always breathing down their neck and one late report would either close down the Avengers or bring a herd of pencil pushing spies from the World Security Council into their midst. 

Coulson shoved himself off the vending machine and fumbled out the coins for a snack. Then, crinkly packaging in hand, he turned to get a cup of coffee.

He was greeted to the sight of Clint Barton holding onto the half empty coffee pot. “Are you going to _eat_ that?” Clint was staring at the fruit pie in Coulson’s hand like it would rear up and bite him. Which was unfair, Coulson intended to bite the fruit pie. “Do you know what’s _in_ those?”

Since Barton did not seem willing to hand over the coffee until Coulson had considered his question he glanced down at the packaging and rattled off the ingredients without really paying attention. In truth there was very little ‘real fruit’ included in the pie and Coulson knew from experience that the crust wasn’t flaky and would stick to the roof of his mouth like glue. That was why he needed the coffee, that and he needed caffeine to get through the next hour. In an hour he might have enough paperwork done and be able to leave. “Happy?” He questioned when he was done and lifted his head to look at Barton, Barton who was not quite glaring at him but was giving him the kind of laser focus that had earned him his nickname. It was so rare for someone to look at Coulson, really look at him, that he found himself flushing slightly in discomfort.

“Yeah… sure.” Barton replaced the coffee pot, the cup he had in his hands half full of tepid coffee. “Have you been here since the…” one hand was waved in the air, “thing?”

Coulson nodded, the muscles in his neck giving a sharp complaint, and pulled down a mug from the cupboard. Most agents drank from paper cups like the one in Barton’s hand but Coulson always preferred to drink from a mug, even though he had to wash it afterward. Once he had a cup of coffee he was unsurprised to turn around and find that Barton was still staring at him. He was surprised when Barton followed him out of the break room down to his office. He was even more surprised when Barton followed him _into_ his office, usually a folder full of paperwork was enough to scare Barton off, stacks of it should be sending the man into a fit. Barton peered curiously at the piles of paperwork and even _sat down_ across from his desk.

“…was there something you needed?” He couldn’t help the tone of his voice, the thread of exhaustion that he couldn’t hide. 

Barton tapped his heel against the leg of his chair and shrugged. “Just wanted to know if that…” Barton made quotation marks with his fingers, difficult to do when holding a cup of tepid (and growing colder by the second) coffee, ““pie” is the only thing you’ve eaten today.”

“…” Coulson thought about it. He was rather sure he had grabbed a bagel with his morning coffee but he couldn’t be positive. Most of the rest of the day was a blur, there might have been lunch at some point, he would need to check his credit card receipts to be sure. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Barton?” 

Barton took a sip of his (now room temperature) coffee and made a face. “Maybe I do, sir, maybe I don’t.” 

When recruits to SHIELD were brought in they were handed a dossier filled with advice from older, wiser SHIELD agents. Every year the dossier was updated and Coulson proof-read the list himself. Since Coulson’s rise in the ranks many (though not _that_ many) years ago, there had been one item on the list that Coulson did not touch. ‘When Agent Coulson glares at you, you shut up and get out’. There were very few agents who wouldn’t shut up and get out when he glared.

Unfortunately, Barton and the rest of the Avengers Initiative were 90% of those few agents.

“You’re drinking coffee after 10, which everyone knows Fury has ordered you not to do which is why you’re drinking it _here_ instead of out of the dormitory kitchen.” And which was why he had gone for break room coffee instead of the far superior coffee served down in the cafeteria. Of course the night shift cafeteria workers had been told ‘keep him away from bright lights, don’t get him wet, and for fuck’s sake _don’t_ give him coffee after midnight’, the only speech Nick Fury had ever given that trumped that was when he informed Stark that electrocuting his fellow Avengers was a no-go. “And you don’t go out of your way to break that rule unless you are planning on doing _something_.”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you.” Barton met his eyes and held his stare silently, although Barton’s attempt at a serious face did fade into a smirk within seconds. The staring contest continued on until Coulson broke it with a sigh. 

“Just don’t get caught.” It was the last Barton could do, wasn’t it?

He scratched out his signature on another form and then started filling in values on yet _another_ form. These days were always forms, more forms, and even more forms crowding his desk, it made Coulson wistful for threats of tazing and long drives to the middle of nowhere. Eventually Barton stood. 

“Get some sleep eventually, Coulson.” And then, once his thumping tread had faded away, there was nothing but blessed silence and the scratch of a pen on paper.

\--

“Hey Coulson, I think you’ve got a secret admirer.” Sitwell spoke with his head halfway in the fridge. Everyone knew that if your food wasn’t marked you ran the risk of Sitwell stealing your lunch, he claimed it was to teach the unaware an object lesson, Coulson just figured that the man was always unhappy with the corned beef sandwiches his wife would pack him. Coulson never had to worry because he never brought a lunch, if he wasn’t in a meeting during his lunch time (where food was always provided) he would either forget entirely about lunch (see yesterday) or take a walk to buy his own. The option of eating in the SHIELD cafeteria was always open but Coulson knew better, if he ate in the cafeteria he would be mobbed so it was either in his office or out of the office entirely.

“A what?”

“A secret admirer.” Sitwell pulled out of the fridge to place a brown lunch bag on the countertop. Coulson set down his coffee cup and picked up the lunch bag. There was a stapled to the folded down top of the bag written on official SHIELD stationary and in purple gel pen. It was signed with an arrow. 

*If anyone but Phil Coulson eats this lunch I will find them.*

“Not really much of a secret, is it.” Coulson murmured and then proceeded to ignore Sitwell’s blustering attempt to explain his ‘joke’. Sitwell’s a good agent but he doesn’t have enough humor to understand Phil’s and has too much of a sense of humor to leave it all alone. “Thank you, Sitwell.”

Coulson casually opens up the bag to check the contents. Had it been discovered by anyone but Sitwell he would take the bag out of the rec room to do so, of course had the bag been discovered by anyone but Sitwell Coulson would have placed the odds of it being a prank slightly higher than they were. Sitwell peered over his shoulder to look into the bag.

*It’s not a prank. Paranoia is bad for your heart.*

Coulson picked the note out of the bag and tucked it into the pocket of his suit coat. The bag holds a handful of clear plastic Tupperware containers that contain, unsurprisingly, food. The ones on top contain a sandwich, or possibly multiple sandwiches, the crust has been removed from the original bread and the sandwich has been cut into shapes.

Coulson’s lips twitch.

A second plastic container holds a mix of carrots and cucumber slices, there is a smaller plastic container next to them, no doubt it contains some sort of dip. The Tupperware under that is concealed to Coulson by the food above it but he is relatively sure that it will contain no nasty surprises. Fruit, probably, real fruit, which Barton no doubt thinks he needs after last night’s fruit pie incident. He is going to need to have a talk with Barton about this, Coulson does not survive on fruit pies alone (occasionally there are donuts) and to have an agent that was occasionally under his command making him lunch would raise eyebrows. Not that raised eyebrows would do anything but encourage Barton, he lived to raise eyebrows. 

He also did not have a terribly long attention span when it came to things that did not involve shooting at things. Coulson was sure that Barton would forget all about making him lunch in a day or two. 

“Not going to share?” Sitwell asked, sounding positively _woebegone_ when Coulson left with the bag. 

“It may be poisoned.” Coulson responded calmly.

There was a recently cleared space on his desk on which to set his lunch, he had settled a stack into the arms of a new recruit to take down to legal which left him feeling accomplished and his desk partially cleared. Coulson pulled the Tupperware full of small sandwiches out first. He idly wondered what Barton had done with the discarded bread, had he eaten it himself? It wasn’t like Barton to waste food so that was likely. There was enough bread for what amounted to two sandwiches and the bread was cut into cutesy shapes, hearts and flowers. Coulson chuckled under his breath and bit a heart in half.

The bread was the perfect consistency for peanut butter and jelly, not so soft that it would stick to the roof of his mouth and not so hard that it distracted. It was probably healthy too. The peanut butter was extra chunky, Coulson’s personal favorite and he wondered if Barton had guessed that, found that out, or if he merely liked chunky peanut butter too. The jelly was… Coulson wasn’t sure, it was more than mere strawberry, whatever it was it was delicious. Coulson finished the sandwich cut-out in another bite and polished off the box in a matter of minutes. Next was the vegetables, the dip was sour cream mixed with something else, spinach and some kind of flavoring. After the sandwich it should have been jarring, even unpleasant, but the flavoring was subtle enough that Coulson found himself enjoying the contrast. The fruit were apple slices, simple enough, and Coulson was reminded of school lunches his mother used to make him. 

At the bottom of the bag was a napkin and a plastic wrapped cookie. ‘For good boys who finish their lunch’, Coulson thought in amusement. The cookie was oatmeal raisin and just chewy enough. 

“I almost want a nap now.” Coulson murmured to himself after he had placed the Tupperware back in the paper bag and set it aside. But instead of feeling lethargic he instead felt re-energized, he supposed that was the point of a healthy lunch. He set upon the stacks of paper with renewed fervor; thoughts of instructing Clint not do to it again are placed on the back burner and, one stack of papers later, completely forgotten. 

\--

The lunch delivery doesn’t stop. Brown bags with ‘love notes’ (as Sitwell puts it) are left in the break room refrigerator nearest Coulson. When Coulson is in a meeting that stretches through lunch the bag is smaller, an afternoon snack of some kind, on nights when Coulson stays late to take care of the Avengers’ mishaps or SHIELD’s many troubles or just to catch up on the paperwork that has piled up healthy snacks or even complete dinners appear. Even when one or both of them is on an op Coulson finds either food or just a note in his suit jacket, his car, once in his briefcase (and he needs to ask how Barton broke the lock). Barton never brings up the food delivery to Coulson’s face and Coulson feels no need to mention it to Barton, he is grateful, of course, but part of Coulson wonders if this is not like the fairy tales he read as a child, if he mentions lunch to Barton will it stop coming?

It does stop coming, eventually.

Two and a half months since the first lunch delivery Coulson stares across his desk at the agent who had delivered the news. He shoves away from his desk and power walks to the conference room.

“As of 23:00 hours last night Agent Barton, Doctor Banner, Miss Ramirez, and Mister Dean are M.I.A.” Fury is in the middle of briefing the Avengers. Coulson freezes in the doorway. Stark doesn’t notice his arrival; Rogers and Romanoff shoot him sympathetic looks. Fury glances up at him from the folder in his hands and nods before he goes back to briefing the Avengers.

Coulson leaves. The file is on his desk, any relevant information on the network is available when he punches in his password. He tries to tell himself that he needs to keep a level head, Doctor Banner is priority one, Agent Barton can take care of himself, there are two junior agents involved and knowing what he knows about junior agents in the hands of their enemies he should draft letters to their next of kind.

He ignores all of that.

It’s five days since he left headquarters, six since Barton disappeared, seven since he had a hot meal, three since he went further than the break room vending machine for food, six days since he’s slept for longer than two hours at a time.

“Coulson.” Knuckles rap on his desk, startling Coulson out of a doze. His desk is a mess, his office worse, paperwork that would otherwise be organized in orderly stacks has slid onto the floor, his trash can is full of wrappers and paper coffee cups. He rubs a hand over his face in an attempt to wake up, he can feel two days’ worth of beard growth and wonders where he put his razor. “Coulson. Sir.”

He blinks heavy eyes at Agent Romanoff.

“Sir, you need to get some sleep.” Agent Romanoff is dressed in casual clothes, the same clothes she wore yesterday. Yesterday? Coulson checks the date on his computer screen. The numbers blur between his eyes and he is forced to agree. “You’re not doing anyone any good like this.”

Anyone.

Barton.

“I can’t…” Coulson starts to say before he cuts himself off and nods. He needs sleep, real sleep. Small, firm hands grip him under one arm and haul him out of his seat.

“I’ll get you somewhere to rest, sir.” And he thinks to tell Romanoff that she too needs rest, that she could use a break as well, he wonders when he became a den mother, he wonders when the Avengers became his. She leads him to the on site dormitory, he nods at the security and SHIELD personnel they pass on the way, at least he thinks he nods, he might just be falling asleep. Eventually Romanoff opens up a door and pushes him inside. “I’ll be back in five hours, sir, _sleep_.”

The lock on the door engages with a quiet click and Coulson slumps against the wall. He knows he’s no good to anyone when his brain feels like it’s covered in fuzz but the WSC has been pushing Fury to suspend retrieval efforts and focus on other objectives. Barton and the two junior agents are expendable, Banner is a thorn in the administration’s side. Coulson knows Fury won’t give in quickly but there is a time limit on rescue, even now Barton could be dead, he has a habit of pissing off his captors.

Coulson stumbles to the regulation sized bed and collapses into it. It’s only then that he realizes that the sheets are slightly rumpled and the pillow smells familiar. He turns over onto his back and stares blankly at the ceiling. There are small pencil sized holes in the ceiling, one tile of the ceiling is displaced, no doubt it is connected to the crawlspaces that Fury and Coulson deny exist but everyone is well aware Barton uses. There are notes pinned all over the walls, most scribbled in Barton’s unique style. Coulson pushes himself off the bed and turns to look at the cork board on one wall. It’s covered in recipes, notations, pictures.

There’s a picture of him, clearly a screenshot taken from security camera footage of him smiling while he bites into one of Barton’s creations.  
It’s a little creepy.

Coulson lays back down and presses his face against Barton’s pillow. He’s going to need to have a talk with Agent Romanoff, this is extremely improper. It’s seconds before he drifts off to sleep.

If he dreams, he doesn’t remember.

He wakes up to an authoritative knock on the dorm’s door. 

And it hits him.

_Borneo._

The Avengers are already halfway across the globe in the quinjet before Coulson has even begun wrangling with the WSC for authorization. They’ve reached HYDRA’s base by the time Coulson has ended the meeting, and they have retrieved Barton before Coulson has finished tidying up his office. There are papers that he needs to read, documents he needs to sign off on, he ignores that and heads back for the conference room.

“Hendricks was compromised, sir.” The inside of the quinjet is dark, Coulson can barely make out Romanoff’s face in the video transmission much less anyone behind her. “He’s also dead.” 

Fury doesn’t ask if it was HYDRA or the Avengers. “And the rest?”

“Banner’s stable, they were attempting to recreate the experiment that created the Hulk.” Coulson keeps his breathing stable. It will do no good to panic. “Miss Ramirez is going to need counseling.” Coulson wonders if Romanoff is doing this on purpose, heart attacks were not covered in SHIELD’s life insurance policy. “You’re going to need to warn Medical that Hawkeye’s coming in hot. According to Miss Ramirez he was trouble, HYDRA has kept him pretty sedated.”

Fury turns to give Coulson a look, Coulson nods and heads to the elevators. He hits the button for the floor that their medical wing is installed in and rests his head on the cool metal wall.

Alive.

Alive and hopefully alright. Romanoff would have mentioned any life threatening injuries but that doesn’t mean that HYDRA has not hurt Barton in numerous small ways.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes tightly.

He’s alive and that’s all that matters.

When the elevator doors open he has straightened his tie and brushed down his suit.

And if his eyes are slightly red no one mentions it.

\--

It takes two days for the drugs to leave Barton’s body completely, Coulson starts receiving complaints from medical three hours after Barton is admitted and they don’t stop until Barton leaves the wing. He reads the first complaint and then sets his spam filter to keep out all of the riff-raff. His office has just begun to look like usual, there are still a large number of reports and requisition forms that need handling, there are a few things that he needs to brief Fury on before filing and one or two folders that he needs to wait for more information on before handing to one department or another. 

He’s only delaying the inevitable and he knows it.

“Knock knock.” His door is open, he’s been receiving agents all day and part of him is well aware that he was waiting for this particular visit. Barton needs a shave and a proper shower, his hair is all wrong, matted in the front and sticking up in back. He is wearing civilian clothes, a black long sleeve t-shirt and sweat pants marked with SHIELD’s logo. (Barton had once joked that they should put the SHIELD eagle on the ass.) The sweat pants hang low on his hips, low enough that when he moves Coulson spots a flash of pale skin.

He looks up.

“I was not aware you had been discharged.” He taps a pile of papers on his desk and then staples them together.

“Funny the things you miss when you tell your inbox to filter out e-mails from the docs.” Barton shoves papers aside and takes a seat on the corner of Coulson’s desk, uncomfortable close to Coulson himself. One false move and his elbow would be brushing up against Barton’s hip. “I sort of discharged myself.”

The papers are then slipped into a plain manila folder, Coulson writes in the date on the line afforded to it and studiously ignores Barton. He should censure the man but he can’t bring himself to do so. Barton was well enough to walk out of medical and not be stopped (and if it was in their power either the doctors or the nurses would have stopped him). 

“Didja miss me?” Barton asks, insolent as always.

Coulson thinks about it. 

Not about ‘it’ because he knows the answer but how he is supposed to answer Barton. Should he tell Barton about the sleepless nights? About the fact that he hadn’t eaten a decent meal since Barton was captured? Maybe he should mention those few hours spent curled up on Barton’s regulation bunk, the pillow that ended up clasped between his arms.

Or would that be a little too weird?

Barton clears his throat and Coulson looks up. The fluorescent lighting does nothing for Barton’s skin tone, the bruise on one side of his neck or the thinness of his face. 

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” Coulson asks abruptly. There is work to be done, Barton probably hasn’t filed an incident report, he hasn’t even been back to his room yet, Barton isn’t even wearing _shoes_. Coulson has more paperwork to file before he’s caught up, Fury wanted to speak with him about his handling of the WSC, he should check on Miss Ramirez, he has yet to write that letter to Dean’s next of kin. 

Barton’s smile makes those considerations fly right out the window. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

“It’s only fair.” Coulson rearranges things on his desk, the back of his hand brushes against that sliver of exposed skin. It feels warm and soft. “You’ve been feeding me for the past two months, I should start repaying the favor.” 

Barton’s hand wraps around his wrist, calloused fingertips rub over his pulse point. 

“It was no trouble, Phil.”

It appeared the old adage ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ really was true.


End file.
